


With Open Arms

by whatstheproblembaby



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatstheproblembaby/pseuds/whatstheproblembaby
Summary: Set in series 2. Sister Bernadette keeps finding herself in situations where she desperately wants to be in Dr. Turner's arms. This is not allowed...until it is.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	With Open Arms

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable dialogue taken directly from Call the Midwife! Let me know if you enjoyed my first foray into Turnadette fic.

Sister Bernadette rubbed her thumb back and forth over the knuckles of her other hand, trying to focus on keeping a steady rhythm as the car slowly made its way toward Nonnatus House. She was hoping that between the cover of her scapular and the necessity of Dr. Turner keeping an eye on the road as he drove, he wouldn’t notice her small movements, but-

“Sister? Are you sure you’re alright?”

_Blast._

“Nothing a little rest won’t cure, Doctor,” she replied, keeping her tone light. “Although even rest won’t help when Sister Evangelina finds out I’ll have to go retrieve my bicycle before I can do my rounds tomorrow.”

Dr. Turner glanced away from the road just long enough to shoot her a stern glare. “You were assaulted by a patient during a long, difficult delivery! The last thing you should have to do after all that is bicycle home on your own, especially when it looks like the weather is going to turn.”

“ _Assaulted_ is a little strong, don’t you think?” Sister Bernadette asked, though she couldn’t keep herself from reaching up to gently rub the place on her cheek where Meg Carter had struck her. It wasn’t throbbing with pain any longer, but even the slight pressure from her own fingers was enough to make her let out a soft grunt of discomfort.

“Clearly not,” Dr. Turner said, smiling wryly. He pulled over beside the staircase outside Nonnatus House, braking and turning the car off before reaching over to Sister Bernadette. “Let me take a look at that.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Let me take a look,” he repeated, hands warm on her face. “It will put both of our minds at ease.”

Sister Bernadette didn’t quite believe that statement.

She closed her eyes as the doctor carefully ran his fingers over her cheekbone, feeling for any lumps or breaks. Thoughts she had been trying to ignore for weeks now ran through her mind in the silence of the car, half-formed feelings of longing and love that she desperately wanted to believe were acceptable under her vows. After all, she loved her sisters in God and nursing, didn’t she?

 _Somehow I don’t think I’d be this conflicted if Trixie or Jenny were conducting this examination, though,_ she concluded mentally, pressing her lips together in chagrin.

“Sister? Did that hurt?”

“No more than the rest of my face,” she said, opening her eyes to find Dr. Turner looking directly at her with an expression she couldn’t quite name. As he let go of her, she shifted her weight and crossed her arms tightly against her chest, suddenly feeling adrift.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said. She felt exposed under his gaze, though he wasn’t looking anywhere he shouldn’t. “A few hours sleep and an aspirin, and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sister Bernadette said softly, looking down at her lap. “If you would...could you not tell the others what happened at the Carter delivery? I don’t want the fuss or the worry.”

“You know Nurse Franklin may have already told the story to everyone? She’s better than a newspaper sometimes.”

“She might have gossiped to the other nurses, but they won’t worry themselves too much. I’m more concerned about how my sisters might react.” Sister Bernadette swallowed hard after her admission. “They’ll want to have you conduct a more formal examination, or pull me off the duty rota...and I couldn’t bear all of that. Not now. If I experience any lasting pain or swelling, I’ll inform you, I promise.”

“I know you will, Sister. I trust your judgment,” Dr. Turner said. They shared one last look, during which Sister Bernadette tried to suppress her yearning for him. She was mere inches away from his arms...and much as she was trying to avoid the motherly intentions of Sister Julienne she usually appreciated, she had a wild notion that Dr. Turner’s embrace would be the exact comfort she so deeply desired, warm and safe and smelling slightly of the cigarette they’d shared….

“May I help you get your bag inside?” Dr. Turner asked suddenly, putting an abrupt end to Sister Bernadette’s fantasies.

“No, thank you. I don’t want any fuss, remember?” she replied. As he exited the car and walked over to let her out, she shook her head slightly, hoping to regain her sense. “You’re very kind.”

She took her proffered bag in one hand and shut the car door behind her, smiling up at Dr. Turner for a quick moment before making her way over to the stairs. As she reached the first step, she heard a call from behind her.

“Sister?” When she turned around to face Dr. Turner again, he continued, “You were brilliant today.”

“Thank you. Your support made all the difference.” She gathered her bag close to her chest, the closest she would get to an embrace that day, and nodded once at the doctor before turning back to the stairs and entering the convent.

If she had looked back as the door closed behind her, she would have seen Dr. Turner gripping the car door handle tightly, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to follow her inside and never let her go.  
___________________

Weeks later, Sister Bernadette was back in Dr. Turner’s car, watching the city thin out into the countryside and trying not to obsess over every breath she took.

“I really do think we’ve caught this in time for the triple treatment to work its wonders,” he said, not for the first time. The hopeful side of her wanted to believe that he couldn’t think straight around her, either, but she refused to indulge that thought. He was driving, trying to make sure they got to St. Anne’s in one piece - he had other things to focus on.

“So you’ve said,” she teased, hoping to see him smile one last time before she was exiled away from him - _no, Poplar, not just him,_ she corrected herself - for who knew how long.

“I’m sorry.” He turned to smile at her briefly, and Sister Bernadette felt her soul light up in response. “I’m terrible company, aren’t I? I just...I don’t want to worry you.”

“You’re navigating down treacherous country roads to a place you’ve never been,” she said, smiling back. “I understand if conversation isn’t the first thing on your mind just now.”

“I’ll be more interesting when I write to you, I promise.”

“When you - when you write to me?” Sister Bernadette parroted, caught off-guard.

“Do you not want me to?” Dr. Turner asked in alarm. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to overstep-”

“No, no - please do write,” she said quickly. “I just didn’t think - you’re so busy-”

“I don’t want you to feel alone,” he said, cutting off her spluttering remarks. “I know the sisters and nurses will write, but I’m sure they’ll also get busy at times - and I promised Tim he could send letters, too.”

“Well, we can’t disappoint Timothy.” Sister Bernadette turned to smile at Dr. Turner once again, but her expression froze as they rounded a corner and came upon the gates to St. Anne’s.

The car was silent as the doctor pulled in and came to a stop a little ways away from the front portico. They sat unmoving for a moment before he finally spoke.

“Here we are, then.” Dr. Turner got out of the car and came around to open Sister Bernadette’s door before popping the boot to retrieve her travel cases. As he bustled about, she stood unmoving by the rear of the car, staring up at the massive building.

“Sister?” He came up beside her, hovering uneasily for a moment before resting his hand ever so gently on her shoulder. She forced herself not to lean into his touch, to keep it chaste, appropriate, friendly.

It was a hard battle.

“I’m scared,” she said softly, glancing up from his hand to his eyes. “I know my chances of recovery are excellent, but nothing’s guaranteed, is it?”

“If anyone can beat TB, it’s you,” Dr. Turner said, squeezing her shoulder. “I may sound overconfident, I know, but I believe mindset plays a role in all recoveries, minor though it may be. I also can’t...can’t even begin to let myself think that you may not come back.”

At that, Sister Bernadette gave up on self-restraint. A couple of tears turned into a steady stream, and she felt a handkerchief get thrust into her hands as the rest of her body was pulled toward Dr. Turner’s inviting chest.

“Wait,” she choked out, halting herself a hair’s breadth away from the place she most wanted to be. She used the hankie to mop her eyes before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I could be contagious. You could get sick, too, and then what would happen to Timothy, and all your patients? I couldn’t live with myself if...if….”

She sobbed once into the handkerchief and took a tiny step back.

“I want to, Doctor, more than I feel free to admit. But I can’t. Not while I’m sick.”

Sister Bernadette made herself look Dr. Turner in the eyes once she finished speaking and felt a rush of relief when she saw understanding and support in his gaze.

“Part of me wants to take the risk, but I know you’re right,” he said, letting out a resigned chuckle. “As usual.”

She chuckled once at that, too. “Thank you. I suppose...I suppose the sooner I get inside, the sooner I can start treatment, right?”

“And the sooner you’ll be back in Poplar,” Dr. Turner confirmed. “I’ll miss you, Sister.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Doctor.” Sister Bernadette reached for her cases, only to remember she was still carrying the doctor’s hankie. When she stretched out her arm to return it, he waved it away.

“Keep it. Just in case.”

“I’ll give it back once I return to Nonnatus.” She tucked the hankie carefully in the pocket of her habit before offering her empty hand. “I promise.”

Dr. Turner shook her hand once, warmly. “I’m holding you to that.”

___________________

“I think it’s her!” came the shout from behind her.

Shelagh thought she might faint in the road when she recognized the voice. She turned back to see a familiar, beloved green car approaching and dropped her cases when it came to a stop and Dr. Turner got out.

He was in front of her almost before she could blink. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, overwhelmed, until he reached up slowly and rested his hand against her forehead, checking for fever.

“What if it had started raining? What if you got lost?” he asked, hushed and fervent.

“I was lost,” she confessed. A sheepish smile threatened to grow on her face, brought on by the combination of her joy at seeing him again and her embarrassment at her plan failing. “I got the wrong bus.”

He stripped off his overcoat at that, wrapping it around her shoulders and surrounding her with the scent of Henleys and cologne. “I was on the right road.”

“Yes,” she whispered, reveling in the warmth of his jacket and the weight of his hands against her collarbone. Somehow, that one statement seemed the most apt way to describe their entire relationship. “I know you so little, but I couldn’t be more certain.”

“I am completely certain.” There was a moment of silence before he admitted, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Shelagh.”

“Patrick,” he replied, answering the question she had had since she saw the signature on his first letter to her at the sanatorium.

“There, we’ve made a start,” she said, feeling the rightness bloom inside her. “Timothy!”

Timothy had popped up beside her out of nowhere. He wriggled under her right arm, squeezing her in a casual yet affectionate hug and forcing his father to take a step back.

“Are you better? Are you coming back?” he asked, beaming up at her.

“Yes and yes. As long as your father allows me in the car,” Shelagh said, looking up at Patrick with a teasing grin as she hugged Timothy back.

“He will!” Timothy chirped. “Here, I’ll get your bags.”

He scooped up a case in each hand and darted back to the car, depositing her things in the boot before clambering back into the back seat.

“You are always welcome anywhere I am,” Patrick said when they were alone again. “But I would prefer that right now, we were somewhere warmer and drier, for your sake.”

“As would I,” Shelagh replied. “But there is one thing I need to do before we can go.”

“What could you possibly-”

Patrick’s question was cut off by Shelagh closing the distance between them to bury her face in his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso securely. Scarcely a moment later, she felt Patrick return the embrace, bracing her as she went slightly weak in the knees. His lips gently brushed the top of her head.

“I was dreaming about this at St. Anne’s. Ever since I had to push you away that first day,” she said, turning her face so she could speak clearly but refusing to move even a centimeter away.

“I was dreaming about this long before then. All I wanted to do after Meg Carter slapped you was bundle you up and ensure you were alright.”

“I wanted that too. But better late than not at all, right?”

“I couldn’t possibly agree more.”


End file.
